


A Crash Course in Owl Linguistics

by Darkorangecat (Calacious)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4585779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Darkorangecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg is stranded in the desert, but he isn't as alone as he thinks he is. Hedwig, of the Harry Potter realm, is sent on a quest across the ocean by her goddess, Athene Pronoia. Can she help save a young man's life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Crash Course in Owl Linguistics

Dizziness assailed him as he regained consciousness, and he lay back on the ground, wishing the earth would swallow him whole. Bile burned the back of his throat and he swallowed it, choking. He closed his eyes, willing his head to stop spinning. The desert sun, hot and unrelenting, beat down on him.

When he next opened his eyes, it was dark, stars sparkled overhead and there was a cool breeze which felt nice on his parched and blistered skin. His throat ached, and there was a persistent pounding in his head. He carefully sat up and took in his surroundings. There was nothing to see, save for a few cacti and tumbleweeds marring the otherwise unblemished desert sand.

A soft hoot garnered his attention and he looked for the source of the sound. A snowy white owl was perched on a nearby cactus, and, by all appearances, it was looking right at him. He blinked, shaking his head to clear it, hoping the illusion would leave, but when he looked again, there was the owl, still staring at him.

The owl hooted again and nodded at him. He quickly looked around himself, wondering if there was someone else the owl was hooting at, and feeling foolish for doing so. _I must be losing my mind,_ he thought. _Being out all day in the desert sun with a concussion has addled my brain._

"Get a grip Sanders," he whispered, "the owl's not staring at you." His voice was hoarse and he coughed, dragging desert sand into his lungs. The coughing jag lasted for a few minutes, ending just when Greg feared that he would never be able to stop. It left him exhausted and struggling to breathe.

He patted the uniform jacket he was thankfully still wearing, searching for a water bottle. He almost always carried one. His search came up empty. Apparently his kidnapper had stripped him of everything even remotely useful when he'd dumped him out in the desert, leaving him for dead.

"Hoo!"

Greg's head swiveled up, his eyes resting upon the white owl that had, for lack of a better choice of word – shouted – at him. It ruffled its feathers and puffed out its chest and looked pointedly at him. Its eyes, round and yellow, bore into his with a keen intellect Greg found unsettling. As far as mirages went, he supposed this one wasn't half as bad as it could have been.

"Wh…what is it you want girl?" Greg whispered, careful not to breathe too deeply. He didn't think he'd be able to handle another coughing fit like the last one. His lungs were still trying to recover and his throat, lined with desert sand, felt like it had been scraped by sandpaper.

"Hoo!" She gave him what could only be classified as a longsuffering look and unfurled her wings.

"I'm….sorry," Greg coughed, "don't speak owl."

"Hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh, wuh-wuh-wuh," she scolded and Greg laughed, doubling over in pain as his lungs seized.

Tears streamed from his eyes and he gulped in mouthfuls of air, coughing and shivering. Though it had at first felt nice on his fevered skin, the cooler temperature of the desert evening was now dropping to near freezing and his body was ill-equipped to handle the abrupt temperature change.

"S…sorry," he gasped out, worried, strangely, that he had somehow offended the bird.

Much to his surprise and discomfit, the owl had, at some point during his latest bout of coughing, flown to his side and was now standing next to him. He shirked away from it and was astonished when it very cautiously and steadily made its way over to him, making a strange series of chirps, bill snaps, and hissing which was oddly comforting.

Greg reached out a tentative hand and was amazed when the owl butted its head up against it, encouraging him to stroke the soft, speckled feathers. It continued its reassuring banter, hopping into Greg's lap as he petted it. The repetitive act was soothing and Greg felt the tension in his body ease.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Hoo, hoo," the owl replied demurely.

"Where did you come from?" He mused aloud.

Though he was thankful for the company, snowy owls were not native to Las Vegas. He only knew of them because of his fleeting interest in ornithology as a teen. They belonged in the Artic, not in the desert.

"Hoo."

Another dizzy spell hit him and he closed his eyes as the world spun. The only thing grounding him was the owl positioned on his lap, another peculiar thing for an owl to do. Owls, to his knowledge, did not make a habit of befriending humans, let alone sitting in their laps. This was obviously someone's pet.

"What an odd pet," he mused aloud and was reprimanded with a sharp nip to his finger. "Ouch!"

"Well, you are quite beautiful," he amended, not wanting to offend the owl again.

"Hooo-uh."

"And you know it, don't you girl?" He chuckled.

Greg caressed the velvety feathers tenderly, smiling when the owl closed its eyes and leaned into the touch.

"How am I going to get back to town?" He wondered aloud, he didn't think he'd be able to walk more than a few yards in his current state. He hoped that someone was looking for him, but didn't know if he'd been missing long enough for anyone to notice his absence.

"Hoo, hoo." The owl's eyes snapped open and regarded him.

"You have an idea?"

"Hoo."

"Guess I should've taken that crash course in owl linguistics after all," he joked halfheartedly. Giving into his exhaustion, he lay down, his hand resting on the head of the owl.

It was dark, he was now shivering uncontrollably and he could feel the blisters on his exposed skin popping. This was it, he was going to die, a snowy owl the only witness to his untimely demise. A half sob escaped his sun-scorched lips.

Hedwig spoke comfortingly to the human and was rewarded with a small smile. His people were nearby and she cried, "Krufff-guh-guh-guk,"to get their attention, ignoring the injured human's flinch at her harsh words.

It was time for her to return to Harry. She hoped that the boy's relatives were feeding him. She'd been gone a long time, but knew that her boy would understand. She'd had a mission, and though she didn't understand the importance of this young man or why she'd been called to him, she'd followed the wisdom of her goddess, Athene Pronoia, and it had led her here. She would not question it.

Free now, to leave, she unfurled her wings and, with a quick peck to the human's cheek, she took off, knowing his people would take care of him.

Greg watched the owl soar away. Her white feathers backlit by the moon made her look almost godlike. He felt oddly bereft and alone.

"Greg?"

_Was that Nick's voice?_ He wanted to call out to the search party, but he could only manage a wordless croak.

"Is that an owl?" Catherine's voice.

"Nah!" Brass' booming voice.

They were almost upon him. Greg watched as the owl became a speck against the dark, star bedecked sky, and waved. He was found, moments later, passed out, clutching a white and black specked feather to his chest.

 


End file.
